


To Be Queen

by ardett



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Gen, Origin Story, Pre Empire of Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12012162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardett/pseuds/ardett
Summary: Sometimes he wonders if they weren’t twins, if they would have killed each other by now.Fenrys, Connall, and how they first met Maeve.





	To Be Queen

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when Empire of Storms came out, planning to write about what happened to Connall, but it's hard to do any work of Sara J Mass justice. But in honor of the Tower of Dawn's release, here's the small piece I wrote.
> 
> (and if you were looking for another Voltron piece, sorry)

Fenrys is chosen for the Akkadian army. Connall watches him leave, sharpened canines glinting a grin.  His eyes are bright burnished gold, reveling and violent. Before he had left, he clapped his twin on the back with the force of a fist ready for fighting. Connall knew Fenrys saw him grit his teeth. He knew his brother didn’t care.

Theirs has never been a relationship of soft spoken words and companionship. Comradery, yes, bravery and resilience. Hard swallows, hard hands, hard eyes. They are unyielding, to each other and the world.

They were born twins to a fae mother, and they had fought every day since for the right to breathe easily. They knew they would never be left alone. Powerful fae males, gifted with magic, twins of a dying race. Others thirsted for them as much as they thirsted for glory.

Fenrys loved it. His blood always ran hotter than his twins. He loved to fight, to eradicate, to decimate, and more than even that, he loves the power. A plea for food, a plea life, Fenrys didn’t care. He would always take the path of most resistance.

Fenrys has always wanted to be the end of the world.

Connall always wanted to be able to end the world.

Sometimes he wonders if they weren’t twins, if they would have killed each other by now.

Sometimes he wonders if they’re both too desperate for too much.

He wonders if the world can sustain them both.

Fenrys has his back to Connall now. His shoulders flex, like he’s just waiting for a reason to draw his sword. Connall feels that similar feral burn in the back of his throat. Always.

 

Connall remembers the first time they had met Maeve.

They weren’t supposed to be there, in Doranelle. But they were aching. 

They had been closer back then, had rarely spent a day apart since they were born, and they were agreed. They were ready. They had long since settled, their magic was as strong as ever, their skills sharp, their bones pliable and ready to shift at a thought’s command. They were aching for more.

They slipped into the city streets at twilight, while the star were stringing themselves higher into the air and the air tasted of old stone and new blood. How they reveled that night. 

Gold left their hands as fast as they could pull it from their pockets and the night stayed young as long as they desired it. The harsh drag of eyes marked their passage. Some Fenrys caught, the daring green orbs of smiling fae girls and treacherous blues that followed them behind curtains of blond hair. He grins at some of the males too, more challenging than inviting. Sometimes their eyes catch on Connall, always second, though he’s used to being second. He’ll just blink, slow and long lashed, letting his teeth flash a little longer than he normally would. The males usually linger on him.

Fenrys throws coins onto the bar, demanding another round. There’s of auburn ring around his pupils were his control is slipping into more lupine than human. Connall glances at his own nails, still rounded and short. He takes another gulp and the alcohol bubbles like laughter down his throat.

“Twins?” The bartender asks. Connall looks up, allowing his eyes the extra second to focus. The bartender gestures between him and Fenrys, jeweled rings casting back shards of dim light. His cautious tone plucks at Connall’s nerves.

“What of it?” His voice catches Fenrys's attention, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Fenrys angle towards them and bare his sharp teeth warningly.

The bartender slips back, flicking long dark hair over his shoulder. He moves to grab another drink. As he slides it over the table to Fenrys, he says lowly “I haven't seen you around here before.”

“We're not of Doranelle.” Connall’s gaze flickers Fenrys’s.

“What brings you to to our fair city?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with.” A snarl is just audible in Fenrys's words.

The bartender shrugs fluidly. Too causally, he leans closer to wipe the hard wood down with a rag. “I would recommend you tread carefully. Twins are rare. You may find you garner far more, and far greater, attention than you intend.”

Fenrys scoffs. “You underestimate us.”

The bartender looks at Connall. The dark twin's smile is something sweet and bitter. “We can take care of ourselves.”

The rest of that night blurs into obscurity.

Dawn awakens them with trailing fingers. Connall takes in their surroundings, a modest inn near the city center, while Fenrys rolls out of bed, thudding to the floor with an exaggerated groan.

“This was such a bad decision.” Fenrys bemoans as his fingers grasp for the glass of water at the bedside.

“No, it wasn't.” Connall breathes as he hears his twin finish the glass.

“No, it wasn't.” 

They meet each other's eyes, matching swatches of darkness, and grin.

They freshen up and leave the inn. They walk down the center street, Connall rolling an ache out of his shoulder blades and Fenrys sampling food from the carts. He watches his brother snatch a tart while a vendor’s back is turned.

“Fenrys.” He hisses but a smile creeps up his cheeks.

Fenrys smirks back. “What are you going to do about it?”

Connall shoves at his brother’s shoulder, but Fenrys jumps out of the way, shifting between one step backwards and the next. The white wolf gives mock howl into the air and Connall grins wider at the challenge there.

It’s effortless to shift himself, letting magic whittle away at his fae features and shape them into something lupine. 

He snaps at Fenrys playfully once the transformation fully takes hold. In response, Fenrys tackles him to the ground, sending them both rolling into some clearly affronted fae. The wrestling only lasts a few moments before Connall lets his form slide back into his fae body, laughing breathlessly as Fenrys too sheds his wolf skin.

He falters.

Down the cobblestone, not even a block away, he sees their mother.

He has never forgotten the look on her face.

The horror deep in her eyes as she looked at the two of them, and then behind them.

“And who might you be?” 

He hadn't heard her voice before, but even then, he knew. He knew who spoke behind them, voice sweet and velvet and endless.

He had been on his knees before he even saw her face. Beside him, his brother had done the same.

Hoarsely, he whispers, “Majesty.” In the sudden hush, his words ring loud but not strong.

He only sees her shoes. That is what he remembers. Delicate, heeled, iridescent triangles of diamond that seem to grace the ground, not stand on it.

Fenrys is not trembling. Connall knows that. But where his hand rests of the ground, Connall can see tense muscles and hard tendons, like there always is when Fenrys is trying not to shake.

“That was an impressive display. There's strong magic in the both of you, isn't there?” They stay locked on the ground. Offhandedly, she says, “You may rise.”

They do.

Maeve's face is heartbreakingly beautiful. Here is real royalty, in her high cheekbones and midnight hair, in her sensuous lips and depthless eyes.

“Could you be…” Voice high and pleased, she continues, “Twins?”

Fenrys nods once, stiffly.

“I don't believe your mother ever told me about you. I wonder, why would that be?” Her gaze raises and Connall knows she looks now at their mother. Maeve gestures her forward. Fenrys whips around and Connall feels him stiffen.

Their mother approaches. Connall watches Maeve flex her hand, watches her long, polished nails cut through the air.

“Majesty, please,” Connall’s feels a twist in his chest at his mother’s tone. Her expression is stricken. “They are my sons.”

“Sons that you hid from me.” Maeve smiles, but it is menacing.

“They were not influential in any reports I made.”

“So you have been wasting their potential?” Their mother’s breath catches in her throat. “They are clearly made for greatness. And I can offer that. I would be willing to take the two of them.” Maeve turns to them, eyes calling and beckoning. “Glory, wealth, luxury, anything you desire could be yours. You would be apart of my personal guard. You would only answer to me.”

Connall feels his throat run dry with the want of it. But… They are barely ten years past settled. He wonders what it would be like to be bound to someone, even the queen herself, for the rest of eternity. Or until their stretch of eternity ends. But even so,  _ even so, _ he tastes a yes on his tongue, bitter with greed and drive.

“No.” Fenrys says.

“Fenrys!” Their mother hisses.

Connall turns to face his brother, eyes wide. Horror at the sheer audacity of his twin and pride of the very same thing battle in his mind.

Maeve’s voice is deadly soft. “It’s an honor to serve under me. Consider your answer carefully.”

“I have given my answer.” Fenrys’s lip begins to curl into the beginning of a snarl.

Connall goes rigid as Maeve turns to him. Barely, mutely, he shakes his head no. 

Maeve’s face goes completely blank, though the shadows around her eyes seem to deepen. A muscle flickers along her perfect jawline. But she only says, “The next time we meet, do not think I will be so forgiving of insolence.” Her dress flairs behind her as she turns and walks away, diamond shoes not making a sound.

Their mother finally faces them, her expression something of rage, but before Connall can say a word, Fenrys grabs him by the arm and pulls him through the darkness.

It takes five jumps before they’re back home.

Fenrys lets go as they blink into their bedroom, but Connall catches him as he near falls to the ground. His brother’s hands are trembling.

“That was too much magic. You didn’t need to drag us both here.” Connall growls, even as he helps his brother stand.

“Yes, I did. I don’t trust her.”

Connall scoffs, half laughter, half scorn. “You don’t trust her? She’s the queen. You don’t need to trust her. She could find us anywhere.”

He feels Fenrys tense underneath him. “She can’t force us to swear the blood oath.” Connall lets Fenrys slips away from him to one of their beds.

He merely repeats, “She is the queen.”


End file.
